


The Reveal

by basilanddill



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Banter, Battle, First Kiss, Love during War, M/M, Took-them-long-enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23620612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basilanddill/pseuds/basilanddill
Summary: The story of how Simon and Baz became Simon & Baz. A story with peacoats, scorching glances, forbidden spells, whispered words, and the odd llama. (Because we could all use a touch of sweetness in our lives right now.)
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

“We shouldn’t be doing this, you know.”

Simon groaned and rolled onto his back, his head squirming to create the perfect pocket on his perpetually flat pillow. His eyes traced the faint black marks on the otherwise unblemished ceiling above his bed. It was back in second year, when he and Baz were in the middle of one of their biggest silent feuds and Baz had snuck a spitting barbed-tailed snake under his pillow. Needless to say, Tide did not have a special section on their website detailing how to remove ichor stains. Of course the whole thing made Baz laugh so hard he fell backwards off his bed. Every now and again, Simon still thinks he can hear a whisper of a hiss in the night.

Simon looked across his pillow at Baz. There was colour in his cheeks and some part of Simon wanted to disregard Baz’s previous night’s menu and take credit for it. Simon traced a line down the aristocratic fall of Baz’s nose and his eyes settled on his mouth – the way the corners curled up just the slightest amount. As if he was thinking of a secret he knew he’d never share. There was a rustle as Baz turned his head and faced Simon and Simon felt the ghost of Baz’s breath stir across his cheek.

“We’re just taking a much-deserved break from saving the magical race. It’s not as if we’re about to rob a Scandinavian bank with nothing but underwear on our heads to disguise us,” Simon replied, trying to goad a smile out of Baz.

Baz’s lips didn’t move but his eyes shone. Simon knew Baz well enough at this point to know that he was picturing it in his head – the hilarity.

“I’d expect nothing less from you, Snow.”

_Snow._

It was only Snow now when he was teasing, or when they were talking in front of the Mage, or that one time when Simon accidentally spelled their toilet to start screaming obscenities any time someone used it. He was never going to live that one down - and the fact that he almost wet himself the first time he tried to pee. It was undignified enough that Baz didn’t know whether to cackle from glee or spell Simon’s eyes crossed from the sheer annoyance of having something scream at him every time he tried to relieve himself.

Gone were the days that Simon learned to sleep with one eye open, and his wand under his pillow. Fat load of good that did though as every spell tended to backfire on him. He didn’t know what he was more scared of in those years – Baz’s spells or his own.

But those years felt like a lifetime ago. One where he was twitchy all the time. Twitchy from lack of sleep, from trying to solve the Mage’s quests, and from trying to muddle through his school work. Five years of lying to himself about something quite significant tended to have that effect on Simon. He still replays that night when it all came to a head.

It was the middle of the night and they’d just returned to their room after fighting off a four headed llama that the Humdrum sent their way as an early Christmas present. It was surprisingly difficult, although maybe it wasn’t so surprising when you factored in the fact the it was able to lob poisoned secretions at anyone who got close anytime it spat.

And llamas spat a lot.

No, seriously…a lot. 

When they factored in the fact that there were four mouths, well they came to the realization that God didn’t make enough umbrellas for this particular situation. It passed between them in a look. It was the merest brush of their arms as they both frantically went for their wands. It was a wordless thing, but novel nonetheless.

Because for the first time they stood shoulder to shoulder. They willingly stood side by side without rancour or selfishness to throw as many spells as they could think of at the creature in front of them. It was only afterwards, after many close calls, with the beast fallen, that they returned to their room. Caked in grime and sweat and blood, it was Simon who broke the silence and asked the question that they were probably both thinking.

“Why did you do that?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Why did you do that?” Simon asked.

Baz cursed under his breath as he tried to undo the buckle on his cloak which had been partially warped by the poison. He tugged on the fabric to no avail before he muttered a wandless **_I want to break free_** spell and the fabric slid through the buckle. Baz took his cloak off and threw it over his desk chair.

“Baz.”

“What? What Snow?” Baz asked as he rounded on Simon. “Why are you looking at me like I’m about to sprout wings off the top of my head and launch myself out the window. What?”

Simon swallowed at Baz’s full fury. “Why did you help me?” he asked quietly.

Baz sat down on the edge of his bed and started unlacing his shoes, his face twisting in disgust as his fingers tangled in the wet laces. “It would take some of the fun out of years of plotting against you if the thing that gets you in the end is a four headed llama.” He threw his shoes in a pile under his desk. “A bloody llama,” Baz muttered, shaking his head in disdained disbelief.

“That’s not it though, is it?”

Baz looked up sharply. Simon was standing there in a puddle of ruined clothes with a sleeve that looked like it could still be smoking and he was wearing a face that made Baz pause. It made Baz want to up and leave. It made him want to summon Simon new clothing because how could he not notice that all the poison dripping off the ends of his peacoat was probably going to eat a hole in the floor. It made him want to spell Simon’s mouth shut.

Baz turned to head towards the bathroom but Simon grabbed his arm and whirled him around, face to face, not even enough room for a thought to settle between them. Baz froze at the contact. He looked down at where Simon’s hand was still circled around his wrist and when he looked up Simon let go.

“Aren’t you tired?” Simon whispered into the space between them.

Baz blinked and shook his head slightly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Simon furrowed his brows. “Yes you do,” he said adamantly. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Simon looked down and Baz watched Simon’s mouth work before he set his jaw and brought his face up once more. “I want you to do a heart reader spell on me.”

Of all the fool things to come out of Simon’s mouth, he never would have put money on that. Baz took a small step back – away from Simon. Simon stood there firmly, unwaveringly, as if he hadn’t asked Baz to perform a forbidden spell.

“Did the llama give you a wallop over the head when I wasn’t looking? That spell is a complete invasion of privacy, of _your_ privacy. There’s a reason that spell is forbidden.”

Simon snaked his hand out, grabbed Baz’s hand and pushed their hands over his heart. He looked wordlessly at Baz. Baz felt the warmth of Simon’s hand on his own, the dry, chaffed skin brushing against his own cool skin. He felt Simon’s heartbeat under his palm. He felt the life coursing through him; all the chemical processes taking place, the oxygenation, the reperfusion, all these life-sustaining systems and something unfurled in him. It was a feeling hidden deep within the cage of his ribs, somewhere where his heart should have been. He knew that they were too different. The monsters never won at the end of the stories. He wasn’t disillusioned enough to think that he was any exception to the rule.

He pulled his hand roughly out of Simon’s grasp, grabbed his bag off his desk, and made for the door.

“If you walk out that door I will never bring this up again.”

Baz paused, conflicted with the desire to run and the urge to stay. He heard Simon’s footfalls as he came up behind him.

“We’re in the middle of a war, Baz,” Simon whispered. “There are no promises of tomorrow. Don’t you dare just let this go. Don’t be a coward.”

Baz spun around at that accusation to find Simon standing there with his wand pointed at his own heart.

**“Unchain my heart, set me free.”**

The ground under their feet shook and Baz had to steady himself on the door as cracks appeared in the floor. Small green sprouts started to spring forth from the ground all around them, snaked through the air and grew until they were almost as tall as him. Bulbs began to form and grow at the end of the stems, brilliantly and blindingly white bulbs that grew as big as his fist. They quivered in the air, vibrating with pent up energy.

Almost in a trance, Baz found himself reaching out a hand at the closest shimmering bulb. His finger grazed the edge of the bulb and he wondered at the satin surface that seemed to pulsate under his finger. All of a sudden, as if Baz’s touch had broken a trance, the dozen bulbs unfurled in unison and they each resembled the horn on a gramophone. They looked like the antique gramophone that Baz had seen in his attic next to a box of vinyl with bands he’d never heard of before.

He looked over at Simon who was equally as dumbfounded by the garden growing around their ankles in the middle of the night, in the middle of their dormitory. The flowers swayed gently on an invisible current that suffused through the room. He waited for something, anything to happen but the flowers seemed content to gently dance back and forth, like an awkward couple at a grade eight dance.

“You reckon I did the spell wrong?”

Baz felt himself venture into a bit of a mood, without really intending. Half his breath was caught somewhere between his mouth and his lungs in anticipation and he felt like a right fool, because _honestly_ , what did he think was going to happen. He felt the words shoot out of him before he could iron them smooth.

“Only you, Snow. Only you would grow a bloody garden in the middle of our room and have the gall to wonder if perchance something may have gone amiss.”

He didn’t mean the biting tone, really he didn’t, but, well, old habits die hard. He saw a look of hurt move across Simon’s face before he rearranged his features into a mask of annoyance. 

“You know what, Baz? You can be a right –“ Simon broke of mid-sentence because at Baz’s name the flowers blushed red and started whispering to each other. One word specifically.

_Baz_

_Baz_

The letters making up his name drifted out of the flowers and they watched his name fill their room, spiral upwards, and slowly dissipate like a mid-morning fog. It struck him that the whispers were familiar because they were Simon’s voice. They were the familiar whispers that plagued and soothed his dreams more times than he’d care to admit.

As if obeying the wand of an invisible conductor, the flowers fell silent. He watched the last whisper of his name float towards the ceiling before it too dematerialized. The flower closest to him started to shake before it coughed out its contents.

_I hope he’s okay._

Another flower across the room started to shake before it too released a whisper.

_He looks so young with his bare feet tucked under him, staring over the top of his book and out the window._

Soon the whispers filled the space between them. Unlike the whispers of his name, the phrases remained and tattooed themselves on the walls and glowed like starlight.

_He’s able to scramble my thoughts with maddening precision._

_Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be him?_

_Dear God, if he keeps pouting I’m going to have to dive into the lake to keep from kissing him._

_He looks like he could use a hug, but he’d probably bite my head off. Maybe try a warming charm?_

_Is he looking at my mouth? Why is he looking at my mouth? Do I have spinach stuck somewhere?_

_Jesus Simon, blush some more, would you? Baz putting a mint Aero bar under your pillow is not a marriage proposal._

_Swallow it down, you knew you’d never end up together._

The novel of Simon’s hidden thoughts was laid bare in elegant script and shone with an ethereal light. He couldn’t turn his head without seeing a new revelation. He felt the truth of the statements coat his tongue and when he swallowed he swore some of the words imprinted themselves on the lining of his cells. He felt almost a second-hand embarrassment for Simon for having years of pent up desires, secrets, and passing thoughts so ruthlessly exposed. It left no room for interpretation; it was written all over the walls.

Baz looked at Simon for the first time since the flowers started speaking, not knowing what to expect. Simon was watching the last phrase light up the wall.

_If he doesn’t turn around you have to let this go. This is enough now._

Simon was red, from the little triangle of skin visible at his open collar all the way up to the tips of his ears. But there was a defiant tilt to his chin. An unabashed set to his mouth as he turned to face Baz full on. Baz swore he could _hear_ Simon’s throat scratch together when his dry mouth swallowed. He asked the first question that came to mind.

“How long?”

Simon laughed self-deprecatingly and raised his arms to encompass the words that filled their room. “Long before I even realized.”

They stood there, between the flowers that had now fallen silent, and waited for the other to make a move. Every single one of his most wildest fantasies ended up in some derivative of the situation they were currently in and yet, even after everything, he couldn’t make himself move. If he took a step there was no going back. There was no more hiding behind veiled retorts and snide remarks. It was the last vestige of self-preservation for his silent heart and he didn’t know if he could give it up so suddenly.

One of the phrases shimmered on the wall and snagged his gaze. _If he doesn’t turn around you have to let this go. This is enough now._ It twisted something in him because he knew it to be the truth. Heaven only knew that Simon was a stubborn mule once he got something into his head and God help him if the thought didn’t make him balk.

Because why would he ever _want_ to go back? Back to what? Back to fighting with an enemy he didn’t even hate? Back to sneaking around and growling at anything that came near?

Baz laughed out loud because _honestly_ , what was he doing?

Baz crossed the space between them in two steps. He grabbed a flummoxed Simon by the lapels of his peacoat and pulled him in close, so close in fact that the tips of their noses were almost kissing. As Simon closed his eyes, Baz leaned in and slowly kissed the edge of his cheekbone. He pulled back slightly only to press his lips to the corner of Simon’s mouth - at the birthplace of all those cheeky grins. He pulled back again but didn’t get far this time when Simon grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. Their lips met each other and if this were a movie the music would have reached a crescendo, the stars would have trailed across the skies leaving glitter in their wake, and the continents would have shifted. Simon’s hands drifted to his back and settled over his shoulder blades pulling him closer still. Baz’s hands slackened on the lapels and settled over his chest. Under his hand Simon’s heart beat like a bird trapped in a cage.

Baz pulled back and settled his forehead on Simon’s. “I’m not.”

“Not what?” Simon asked, trying to regain his breath.

“A coward.”

Simon breathed out a laugh. “Oh shut up,” he said as he leaned in to kiss him again.


End file.
